


alone / with you

by viscrael



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Second years, it gets fluffy at the end, kinda angsty, tsukki is touch deprived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 03:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5769454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscrael/pseuds/viscrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima was sixteen. Fact. Tsukishima was prideful. Fact.</p>
<p>Tsukishima was very, very much human: fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	alone / with you

**Author's Note:**

> wow! more tsukkiyama angst. why am i like this
> 
> this gets fluffy @ the end tho dont worry
> 
> also: this is unedited af its 12 am on a school night and im uploadin this instead of practice my speech i have to give tomorrow so like ,,,,,, pray for me pls

When Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were little, things like touching weren’t a problem. That’s the way children are; they don’t care about things like that. Sharing a bed, changing in front of each other, holding hands and hugging goodbye and good morning—normal.

And as all children do, they grew up, and with middle school came the distinct idea that touching was bad. Casual contact wasn’t something you were supposed to have with friends, especially not when those friends were two twelve-year-old boys. So, in his mind, Tsukishima drew a large _X_ over the idea, and labeled it _Off Limits_.

 

\--

 

Yamaguchi didn’t catch on quite as quickly. While Tsukishima put distance between them—scooting away when they sat next to each other so their shoulders were no longer brushing; pulling his hand away when they walked side-by-side, insurance in case Yamaguchi tried to reach out and grab it—he hoped in vain that the other boy would take the hint without it being explicitly said. After all, there was no reason for him to have to say it explicitly anyway. It wasn’t normal to touch your friend so much at that age, and Yamaguchi should’ve known that.

Maybe some of him did, because he only ever brought it up once, when Tsukishima reacted badly to a hug, red faced and hiding his spluttering.

“What’s wrong?” he’d asked, already pulled away. Tsukishima tried to meet his eye, but they were right in front of the school, and he could see some kids in their class looking at them. It made his face heat up all over again.

“Don’t—do that anymore,” Tsukishima said. Yamaguchi blinked.

“Do what?”

“…You know. Touch me so much.”

Something seemed to click in Yamaguchi’s mind, because he didn’t ask anymore questions. “Oh. Right. Sorry, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima was surprised he didn’t have to defend his request—the words _we’re too old for that_ and _it’s weird_ and _no one else our age acts like that_ were on his tongue, and he swallowed them, unneeded. Yamaguchi was like that sometimes, and it helped. Tsukishima wasn’t always very good at verbalizing things, but his friend got it even without him saying anything.

 

\--

 

Sometimes, on the afternoon walks home, when Tsukishima had his headphones off and Yamaguchi was walking next to him, explaining something that had happened or venting about a subject he hated or telling a story he’d liked, Tsukishima’s hand twitched at his side. Like it was looking for something, or someone. If he let it, it would brush against Yamaguchi’s, just for a second, and then maybe Yamaguchi would brush back.

He never let it.

 

\--

 

Tsukishima didn’t like other people touching him. It was annoying at best, when Tanaka clapped a hand over his back or Hinata went for a high five. Kids turning around in class to tap his shoulder or strangers on the sidewalk bumping into him as they passed. None of it was pleasant. None of it was anything he would deem _nice_.

Which was why he never understood the way so many people talked about physical contact, like it was the best thing in the world. What could have been so great about it, anyway? Hugging and holding hands and claps on the back and tapping knuckles and brushing ankles and cheeks pressed together. He didn’t understand it.

Hinata was probably the most touchy-feely person he’d ever met. It ranged anywhere from amusing to irritating to watch the way he interacted with people, the different reactions he got. At first, it was fun to watch him annoy the King with his constant touching and consistent lack of personal space, but it became less so when it started to be clear to the team that it was more intimate than that. Tsukishima stopped being amused by their antics and started going straight to irritation when their looks grew longer and Hinata’s hand moved gentler.

 

\--

 

He could put up with the wide-eyed looks and excessive blushing, but he drew the line at walking in on them making out in the locker rooms.

He’d slammed his locker shut unnecessarily loudly, just to let them know he was there, and said nothing as they jumped apart, faces pink and guilty. Hinata opened his mouth like he was about to defend them or something equally as stupid. Tsukishima didn’t stay long enough to hear whatever excuse he was going to give.

Yamaguchi was waiting for him outside the school when he got back, rifling through his bag for something. He stopped what he was doing as he noticed his friend approaching, and started to greet him when he must’ve seen the look on Tsukishima’s face.

“You got your bag,” he said unnecessarily. Tsukishima had gone back for it. “Did something happen?”

He tried not to grimace, but based on Yamaguchi’s reaction, it didn’t work. “Nothing. A couple of morons just can’t keep it in their pants long enough to get home.”

“Oh. Hinata and Kageyama?”

“Who else?” It came out harsher than he’d intended it to, but Yamaguchi didn’t react. He just nodded, and they started walking.

“That’s the second time that’s happened,” he said. Tsukishima eyed him, so he elaborated, “The same thing happened to me. I think they get more reckless when the first years aren’t around.”

“They’re reckless all the time.”

“You sound bitter, Tsukki.”

He snorted, but he felt his heart speed up. “What would I have to be bitter about?”

Yamaguchi leveled him with a look. “You tell me.”

Tsukishima didn’t respond. They spent the rest of the walk in silence, but his hand kept twitching.

 

\--

 

Tsukishima was sixteen. Fact. Tsukishima was prideful. Fact.

Tsukishima was very, very much human: fact.

 

\--

 

Yamaguchi had always been consistent in staying by his side, but the distance at which he kept himself fluctuated.

Up until Tsukishima had changed it, they may as well have been attached at the hip. But because he’d drawn an _X_ over the idea, he’d severed that aspect of their friendship, and now Yamaguchi was quick to assume that the _X_ was still very much present. He leaned away automatically when they sat next to each other. Their legs didn’t brush. Tsukishima could barely remember the last time they’d slept near each other.

There was a point at the beginning of their second year, where the distance increased and it sometimes felt like Yamaguchi wasn’t there at all. He was distant, withdrawn from Tsukishima. Maybe not even on purpose—after all, both of them were busy, school and volleyball and college and family. But either way, it got to the point where Tsukishima would go days without a real conversation with him, and it left him with an odd ache in his chest that he tried to bury.

If he thought about it too much, it left a lump in throat that he couldn’t swallow around and a pit in his stomach that felt a lot like loneliness.

(So he _didn’t_ think about it. Tsukishima was good at that, at least.)

As it turned out, it wasn’t any malicious intent to get away from him; Yamaguchi had been busy. They both had been. Eventually, their friendship leveled out again, the way it had been before.

But no matter how close Yamaguchi seemed to get again, it left Tsukishima feeling like he wasn’t really there at all.

 

\--

 

The rift in their friendship cracked and grew, and Tsukishima was very, very much human.

 

\--

 

Yamaguchi was there so often that it was difficult to tell when he was really _there_. Even when they were together, he was off in space, thinking about something else or someone else or somewhere else.

Some days it got so bad that Tsukishima wanted to reach out and shake him. Look at me, look at me, look at me. I’m right here, I’m right in front of you. Look at me again.

But he was so far away.

 

\--

 

When they were little kids, Yamaguchi made Tsukishima want to believe in that story that said fairies are born from laughter, the way that his nose scrunched up and his lips spread wide, showing off endearingly crooked teeth and closed eyes from happiness. Yamaguchi’s laugh was childhood.

As they got older, Tsukishima didn’t realize it as he did it, but he tried to make Yamaguchi laugh as much as possible. It wasn’t hard, because he wasn’t careful with his happiness, wasn’t picky about what he gave attention enough to laugh at. He would snicker at little things Tsukishima said, jokes that weren’t actually that funny and snide remarks that weren’t all that clever. Tsukishima would lean to the side slightly and mumble comments under his breath, just loud enough for Yamaguchi to hear; for him and him only.

He eventually realized that was what he was doing, and made a conscious effort to stop it. But he still caught himself staring when Yamaguchi laughed sometimes.

 

\--

 

One day, Tsukishima couldn’t stand the distance. It was suffocating him, that lump in his throat and pit in his stomach, and he grew angry—angry at Yamaguchi for being so far away and angry at himself for letting this happen. His hand twitched, seeking warmth, seeking _something_.

This time, he let it.

If Yamaguchi was surprised that his friend has reached over and taken his hand, he made no sign of it. He blinked, once, and curled the tips of his fingers against Tsukishima’s, honey dark in contrast with Tsukishima’s pale skin. They sat like that, Yamaguchi acting like it was a normal thing for them, like they had done this since they were still in middle school, like the _want_ for it hadn’t been eating at Tsukishima for almost a year now—and Tsukishima acting like his heart wasn’t racing in his chest. He was half scared that the other could feel his pulse through his fingers, but Yamaguchi made no comment.

Tsukishima’s mouth was dry, and he watched his friend work in silence where they were supposed to be doing schoolwork. He wanted to say something; wanted to ask why Yamaguchi was so far away. Wanted to ask what he could do to fix it. Where did you go? Where did you go?

He wanted to apologize.

Would apologizing even help?

Yamaguchi’s hand squeezed his.

Tsukishima was prideful: fact.

 

\--

 

Yamaguchi must’ve taken it as some sort of invitation to disregard the _X._ When they got to school the next day, he asked what Tsukishima was listening to, and at the answer, asked if he could listen too. The cord to Tsukishima’s earbuds was small, and they ended up huddled over his ipod, listening in companionable silence until the teacher entered class and they had to put it away.

Tsukishima didn’t verbalize what he had been feeling, what he had needed—but with Yamaguchi, he didn’t always need to. He wasn’t entirely sure when holding hands became a routine thing, but eventually, it did; on the walk home, when there was no one around to see the link of their hands or the way Yamaguchi’s fingers tightened around his or the way Tsukishima let himself smile, just a little. And with the hand holding, came the habit again, of not only sitting next to each but of keeping the distance as minimal as they could get away with. Yamaguchi’s ankle hooked around his under the lunch table. Their thighs touched where they sat. When they walked, their shoulders always brushed. Yamaguchi was good at the whole “casual touches” thing.

It wasn’t scary, like a part of Tsukishima (buried away) had been afraid it would be. He wasn’t turned away by it, it didn’t frighten him from wanting them to be close again. It wasn’t even too emotionally overwhelming; it just _was._

It didn’t feel new. It felt like it had always been there and he was just now realizing it.

It felt like home.

 

\--

 

Tsukishima was very, very much human: fact.


End file.
